


Becoming a Beast

by winryrockbae



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: i genuinely can't think of any tags for this just yet, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-18 03:07:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21770761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winryrockbae/pseuds/winryrockbae
Summary: He was a victim of circumstance, but a villain in every other way.A glimpse into the life of Miklan Anschutz Gautier, eldest son, bandit and former heir to House Gautier.
Kudos: 23





	1. Seven

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TopologicGamble](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TopologicGamble/gifts).



> I hope that I'm doing your mans justice, I love him because he's angry and brash and complex. He could have turned out so differently if the circumstances were different. He's a product of his environment but that doesn't mean he's a victim of anything other than circumstance. He's still very much a villain and he's mean and evil and violent and he's really fun to write.

His life wasn’t so bad. 

It wasn’t as lavish as crestborn Glenn’s, but he was still the only heir to the Gautier family name. Despite his lack of crest, he was still presented as the heir, the one who would one day inherit everything that his father and his father’s father, all the way back to the Ten Elites of Fodlan had built. 

There was a great pride behind his family name and Miklan could feel it in his chest when he was introduced as Miklan Anschutz Gautier, heir. 

“Glenn, let’s go out in the field.” Miklan’s shoes made a rhythmic tupping sound through the halls of the Gautier estate as he sought out his friend. 

Even though he was a child only a year younger than Miklan, Glenn held himself as a small adult. Always lingering about their fathers as if the voice of a six year old would provide them council. His long black hair was loose today and with that decision he appeared to be a miniature version of Rodrigue. 

“What a good idea, Miklan. How about the two of you pick up some training swords and take a few swings at the training dummies?” Rodrigue offers,affectionately resting a gloved hand on top of Glenn’s dark locks before gesturing for his own son to be on his way. 

In the past few weeks his father had grown far more distant. He had never been as loving as Rodrigue, but he had never been downright cold to his son. The way his eyes turned hard when he looked down at the child who inherited his mother’s cheekbones and his father’s bright hair. 

“Go on, Miklan. We adults have matters to discuss.” 

He was sent off without a pat on the head and with a twinge of jealousy in his chest as Glenn walked beside him, cheeks puffed out and lips curved into a frown as he tried to fix his hair after his father ruffled it. 

“Your dad is really nice.” 

“He’s annoying. He always wants to hug me and stuff.” 

“My dad doesn’t hug me.” 

“You’re lucky.” 

Two small pairs of shoes make their way to the lower levels of the castle, towards the knights hall. 

Every time Miklan enters the place, he swears it’s somehow grown larger. There are a few guards scattered here or there, but none of them pay much mind to the small boys. They two of them head straight to the far wall to pick up the specially made training swords, the two thin wooden blades that were made for short arms and small hands. 

“I wanna be the knight this time!” Miklan turns quickly, sword raised triumphantly in the air. 

“No! I’m the knight! You be the bandit. You got to be the knight last time.” Glenn counters as he levels his training sword at Miklan’s throat in a single fluid movement. 

Even at such a young age, it wasn’t hard to see that Glenn was a natural with a blade of any sort in his hand. While Miklan found swords to be a fun way to pass time in the castle, Glenn genuinely moved as though they were an extension of his arm. There was no hesitation in his swing. 

Honestly, it was a little frightening. 

“Fine.” Miklan huffed. Being the bandit was still fun, but he liked having the title of a knight even if it was only in a game. But when you were the bandit, you could break all the rules. In a flash of movement he kicked sand up into Glenn’s face, laughing wildly as he took off running.

“Cheater!” Glenn’s voice followed him through the hall. The two of them wove through the knights and the guards training, laughing and tripping over their own feet. 

“The bandit gets to do whatever they want!” Miklan called back over his shoulder, veering right up a set of stairs back into the main estate. There were plenty of nooks and crannies to hide in up here and it would drive Glenn mad when he couldn’t find Miklan. 

“Well Miklan could never be a true heir.” 

The voice of his father causes him to skid to a stop. Amber eyes widened, it felt like there was a rock in his belly as he sat on the carpet staring at the door. It was cracked only slightly, enough so that he was able to hear the conversation within. 

“Miklan, are you ok-?” Glenn had run up as light on his feet as a cat. He was an intuitive kid, the training blade was placed down and he sat with his chin on his knees. He own gaze focused on the door as well as his father spoke up. 

“You’ve raised him as an heir this long, aren’t you worried about what that will do to him?” 

Miklan felt a rush of appreciation towards Rodrigue, though out of the corner of his eye he saw Glenn’s nose scrunch slightly. But Glenn wouldn’t understand. Glenn, who was fast and smart and was born with a crest would not understand. 

“Not particularly no.” Soren Gautier’s voice was cold, uncaring as he discussed his son in the same manner as an old dog or a sick horse. Disposable, inconvenient, worthless. “He can deal with it however he feels he must, but even a child should know that without a crest he cannot bear the Relic. In our constant state of war with Sreng, how could we afford to dote on an heir that cannot use our most powerful weapon?” 

“You speak as a Margrave, not a father.” 

“I am Margrave Gautier, first and foremost and my duty lies with the people of Fodlan. We are the first line of defense against Sreng.” 

“This still feels wrong, my old friend.” 

“So be it.” There’s a clink of ice and a pause. Miklan can picture his father now, sitting in the plush chair before the fire with a glass of expensive liquor in his hand. “It may be some time yet. Nadia lost the last baby, the doctor warned that she may not be able to carry another child to term. We are going to continue trying though. The child will have to be born legitimately and with a crest.” 

“That’s quite a bit for Nadia to go through as well.” 

“She understands the situation.” 

There’s silence between the two adults and Miklan can feel Glenn’s eyes on him, wide with worry. He’s unable to focus on anything other than the feeling of his world collapsing around him. 

“Miklan… it’s okay.”

Glenn’s voice was tiny and far more gentle than Miklan had ever heard it. He doesn’t want to cry, but as soon as he feels Glenn’s hand touch his shoulder comfortingly the tears well up and drip down his cheeks. 

He can’t take it anymore, he can’t sit in this hallway and feel Glenn’s pity or listen to his father’s laughter. The Margrave has already moved onto another subject and is discussing something amusing with Rodrigue, but Miklan can’t help but feel the laughter is directed at him. 

His father is laughing at him. At what a stupid, ignorant child he was to believe that he would be the heir without a crest. He was simply a placeholder until a new baby was born. Then Miklan would be discarded like trash and no one would ever have to deal with him again. 

“Lots of people don’t have crests, it’s okay. You can still be a knight.” Glenn offers, trying to help the best way he can. 

“I don’t want to be a knight. I don’t want to do anything for this family or for this country ever again!” 

It’s a fit of rage that causes Miklan to slap Glenn’s hand away before rushing off with tears and snot running down his face. He hides away in the stables, he was quickly frozen to the bone in a pile of hay while the horses snorted around him. At least horses held no judgement. 

His father never comes looking for him. Miklan knew he wouldn’t, but a small part of him had hoped that even crestless, his father would still care for his son. Rodrigue and Glenn had come to get their horses, Miklan hiding from them in the shadows as they mounted up for the ride home. Then the only noises are made by the horses for hours. 

It’s a stable boy that finds him, exclaiming in thick commoner’s accent how surprised he was to find the little lord hidden amongst the family’s steeds. Miklan is too frozen to move, his body screams in protest with the movement of him trying to stand up and he stumbles. The commoner catches him, carries him up to his room and alerts the house staff that he’s in there. 

But neither of his parents come to check on him, most likely preoccupied with trying to make a new heir. Someone worthy of the title and of their time. 

Miklan hated that baby before it was born.


	2. Thirteen

Miklan remembered thinking that the baby was the ugliest thing he had ever seen in his life. 

Two years prior Miklan had been an afterthought when the Margrave invited him into the master bedroom several days after the baby was born. His mother beckoned him forward, beaming proudly as she held a little bundle of blue blankets and soft fox fur in her arms. Miklan truthfully hadn’t been sure what he was expecting, but a pudgy round face with red cheeks and drool dribbling down a chin barely visible through the rolls of fat wasn’t it. It’s red hair was stuck flat to it’s delicate skull, cradle cap already stuck to the fine strands. The creature yawned then, making an inhuman noise while revealing bumpy pink gums and Miklan didn’t think he’d ever seen something so ghastly. He’d voiced this to his mother, nose scrunched in distaste as the creature then opened its eyes, they shared the same color, and gurgled up at him. This had earned Miklan a swift box to the ear from his father and instant dismissal from the room. 

Interactions from then on seemed to follow the same pattern. Miklan would express his aversion towards the wailing baby or the wobbling toddler, only to be swiftly disciplined and dismissed. The creature took over the estate, the servants always talking about how cute it was despite the way snot ran down it’s nose or when the collar of its shirt was soaked with drool while it was teething. Once, when left alone Miklan stuck his finger into its mouth to feel for the fangs of a beast, because something so hideous could hardly be considered human. 

Glenn still came over to play with him, though now he was often drawn towards the abomination that waddled after them with fat, outstretched hands. The creature was even stealing Miklan’s friend, as if his parents and all the servants weren’t enough. The pretty maids that used to swoon over him and kiss his scraped knees were practically falling over themselves with bursting ovaries to coddle the creature and touch it’s soft tufts of bright hair. 

“Miklan, let Sylvain play too.” Glenn said one day, bent awkwardly to hold the tiny hand that Miklan had slapped away so often. 

“He’s a dumb baby, he doesn’t know how to play. Just give him a rock to suck on,” Miklan snapped. It wasn’t his job to watch out for Sylvain, the maids should do it if they loved him so much. 

“But he’s your brother. Don’t you want him to join?” It was clear that Glenn was confused. How could he not be, for he was born with a Crest and would never understand what had happened in the Gautier household. He was his family’s heir no matter when or if another baby came after him. But Miklan had lost everything to the waddling lump of fat that was loudly repeating some of the words he knew at Glenn’s side. Each variation of the word play grew louder, angrier as he demanded attention from one of the older boys. 

“No. I don’t.” Miklan’s voice cracked slightly, from emotion or puberty it was hard to tell. “I hate him.” 

It felt good to say it outloud, the horror on Glenn’s face was exactly the type of reaction that Miklan expected to see. It was satisfying to watch his friend’s fingers tighten slightly around Sylvain’s hand, his body shift as if Miklan was going to lash out and kick the two year old into the other room. A weight was lifted as Miklan repeated himself, over and over again with clenched fists. His head was bowed, tears leaking from his eyes that were scrunched shut and for a fleeting moment he wondered if in that moment he looked as much a monster as he saw Sylvain. 

He must have, because when he opened his eyes and wiped his tears with the back of his sleeve he saw that Glenn had scooped Sylvain into his arms. The Fraldarius’s eyes were wide with horror, watching Miklan as if he were the true beast. As though the nails that left crescent shaped cuts in Miklan’s palms as he screamed would lash out like claws to tear through thier flesh. Glenn didn’t even seem to care that the real monster was playing with his dark hair, he had no idea that those fangs were so close to his throat. 

There was tension between the two boys as each calculated how to proceed, Glenn holding tight to Sylvain and Miklan shuddering with the emotions he had just dispelled. He’s suddenly gripped by fear, what if he’d placed the final straw that made his friend abandon? The thought makes it feel as though he were doused with ice water and left alone to shiver. If that were to happen, he would be totally and completely alone. His next words escaped in a frantic bark, frame jerking forward toward Glenn. Ignoring Sylvain, Miklan grabbed onto Glenn’s free wrist and held on. 

“Don’t leave me, Glenn.” He was almost on his knees begging. If his Margrave Gautier saw him in such a position he’d knock his eldest into next week without a moment’s consideration. The sobs wracked his body, this time the tears that fell were fat alligator sized droplets that left salty streaks down freckled cheeks. “I didn’t mean it. I’m just - he - everyone loves him so much.” 

It was hard to explain, difficult to put into words that don’t showcase how cruel Miklan was. He was old enough to know that nothing that had happened was Sylvain’s fault, and young enough to divert all his hatred and rage towards the easiest target. 

Glenn was wise, emotionally intelligent and understanding to the point of seeming decades older than he was. His features softened and after gently removing his wrist from Miklan’s grip he walked away. Miklan’s stomach sank and he really did fall to his knees, only to feel a soft weight on his shoulder moments later. 

Glenn had set Sylvain in the other room to better crouch in front of his oldest friend. “I won’t leave,” His voice was so sweet and so clear that for a moment Miklan wondered if he even deserved such a good friend. “But you have to try.” Glenn stood and offered a hand to Miklan. Although lithe he was made of solid muscle and he was able to pull the broader of the two to his feet. “It’s not Sylvain’s fault and you know it.” 

“I know.” As he spoke Miklan’s focus became cleaning himself up. He wiped his face, pushed his hair back from his forehead and took several deep breaths. He needed to be collected if their fathers found them. “I’ll try.” 

Glenn’s expression turned dark, lips twisted into a scowl as his sharp gaze traveled over his oldest friend. It was clear that neither of them believed Miklan’s words, the two of them standing in silence as they considered whether or not to address it. “You better.” It sounded like a threat, and for all Miklan knew - it was. 

After Glenn’s visit, Miklan tried to hold true to his word. He stopped scowling at Sylvain and referring to him as the beast or the creature. He still couldn’t utter the word brother, but calling him by name was a start. Sylvain seemed delighted by this development and chased after Miklan eagerly. The maids cooed about what a good big brother Miklan was becoming and his chest swelled with pride at the attention they were giving him. Compliments falling from their pretty lips as they pushed his hair back from his face with slender fingers. 

For a while it appeared as though Miklan had forgiven Sylvain for being born.But it was only on the surface. There was still a darkness that crept and coiled underneath, waiting for the moment where Miklan would lose his composure and snap. 

The first snap came two weeks after Glenn’s visit. Miklan was sitting by the fireplace with a book propped open, scanning the words but not reading them. Snow fell outside and one of the maids had left a cup of tea for him along with some long gone shortbread cookies. A token of appreciation for being a good big brother was what she had said and Miklan had smiled and thanked her, but he thought about striking her. All he was complimented for was being a brother. No one noticed his art or the way he could play the piano. They used to call it beautiful, now they cooed at Sylvain and asked him if he liked the pretty music. Miklan stopped playing. 

He scanned the same sentence several times, _‘The valiant knight held the beautiful, kind, virgin princess in his arms and rode off.’_ Miklan sipped his tea, it was cold. _‘And the valiant knight -’_ The door as it was pushed open, soft feel padding towards him. _‘-held the beautiful, kind, virgin princess-’_ small hands reached for his book and he absently moved it away, _‘-in his arms and rode-’_ with a wail Sylvain climbed onto the couch and tried to tug the book from Miklan’s hands, clearly wanting his brother to acknowledge him. _‘-off…...The valiant knight -’_

“Bruder.” The word that Sylvain uttered made Miklan’s blood go cold, only to start boiling a moment later. “Bruder!” Sylvain was able to pull the book from Miklan’s hands when the eldest’s grip went slack. 

In that moment, he saw red and reflexively lashed out. The back of his hand connected with Sylvain’s chubby cheek and his brother tumbled from the couch, arms thrown out to break his fall. The toddler hit the stone floor with a sickening crack, followed shortly by a bloodcurdling wail that summoned several maids and the Margravine herself. 

“What happened?” She demanded as she scooped Sylvain into her arms, his left wrist bent at an unnatural angle and looking as monstrous as he was. 

“I was reading and he fell off the couch!” Miklan acted as panicked as the rest of them, eyes wide in false horror as his heart thudded with excitement. “I tried to catch him!” 

“You! Call a healer.” Margravine Gautier had already moved on, ordering the maids around and carrying the screeching toddler from the room. 

It’s eerily silent after the flurry of moment and Miklan is left blinking after them. He settled back on the couch, picking up his book where he left off - though this time he was using it to conceal his wicked grin. He hadn’t felt this good in years, they all believed him. They thought he would try to catch Sylvain, not shove him. He injured the beast and his heart couldn’t stop racing with the thrill of it all. If it looked like an accident, he wouldn’t be punished. He settled while still smirking from ear to ear, opening his book once more. 

‘ _The valiant knight held the beautiful, kind, virgin princess in his arms and rode off. They soon married, and lived happily ever after.”_

**Author's Note:**

> I have a couple more chapters to go, hold onto your socks.


End file.
